<html> <body> Metamor Keep: Divine Travails of Rats by Charles Matthias and Ryx Pars III: Descensum (h) Monday, May 7, 708 CR Charles gestured to the mountains rising up sharply from the end of the shallow combe into which the Narrows fed. Beside him James admired the hills and the rocky promontory between the mountains. “What do you think?” Charles asked him as he shifted about in his saddle to keep his tail straight. They stood a-horsed on the top of the southern ridge overlooking the combe and the culvert that climbed into the mountains. Pines, aspen, birch, and larch clung in patches to every hillside except for a bare patch of rock thrust outward from the promontory. “It looks like it will be difficult to get to,” James noted with a frown. His long ears fell back along his mane. “This looks like a terrible place for a road.” His lips stretched toward the shallow combe beneath them which ran eastward from the promontory. “The walls here are shallow enough civil engineers can level this ground. We shall want to cut these trees back anyway to keep out brigandage. The wood will be good for homes tools, and fires. The land can then be cultivated.” “It's going to be a lot of work,” James noted, his frown deepening. “I know. I'm hoping to convince Gibson to come out this way tomorrow to help plan the work.” “Gibson? The frog? I thought he was just a merchant.” Charles grinned around his incisors and patted the donkey on the shoulder. “That's the idea. He can help estimate costs. He also knows a thing or two about good roads and homes so he can help draw up some of the plans. I can then discuss those plans and estimates with Julian who can help me determine how to finance everything! But, if we can find the money, what do you think of that promontory? It seems ripe for a stone keep to me.” James stared at the promontory nestled at the base of two mountains and overlooking the end of the combe through the middle of the Narrows. At one time it may have been a route for water, but now it was more a shallow ditch that cut across the western half of Matthias' contested lands. To its north the ground gradually rose until reaching the towering redwoods of the Glen. To its south the hills dwindled until they flattened out at the edge of Lake Barnhardt. After only a month of study, Charles knew that this was by far the best defensive position in all the Narrows. He also liked the idea of it being at the foot of the Dragon Mountains; perhaps later he could ask the stone's permission to shape it into a home and fortress for his family and those who would come to live on his fief. But the donkey could only shrug. “I suppose once you clear out those trees you can. I'm sorry, Charles, I'm not very good at this.” “You didn't think you were good at swinging a sword a year ago either,” the rat pointed out with a short laugh. James appeared to blush at the praise. “I want you to imagine this area leveled out and cleared, imagine it as if you were a rider coming up this new road. Before your amazed eyes you glimpse the stone wall there sectioned into an inner and outer bailey, towers spaced so they can see and reach everything about, with both mountains rising up on either side like giant ears, and between them a keep standing like a diadem atop a crown. Just imagine it.” “That does sound impressive, Charles. It will take years!” The rat laughed again. “As I've promised to Lady Kimberly! She is not ready to leave the Glen yet so that keep had best take several years to complete or she'll skin me and use me as a rug!” The bizarre image made James chuckle with a short bray. But the laugh was cut short by the sound of something small coming through the brush to their south. Rat and donkey turned to watch as a lamb, no more than five months old, ambled out of the woods and began sampling a patch of clover. James blinked and stared into the woods. “Where did he come from?” Charles grimaced and relaxed his grip on the hilt of his sword. “There are meadows south of here. It must be a Lakelander shepherd.” Scare him away. He ground his molars together, and dragged his sword from its scabbard as loudly as he could. The screech of metal startled the lamb who bleated in alarm and backed up, eyes wide and ears back in fear. Charles nudged Malicon forward; the pony, uncertain, obeyed his command and began stomping his hooves. James hissed in surprise. “What are you doing?” “Scaring him,” Charles snapped. “He needs to learn not to leave his flock, and that foolish shepherd needs to learn to take better care of his charges!” He waved his sword in the air and screamed at the lamb. The lamb bleated all the louder, now too frightened to even move, little hooves rooted in the clover patch. “Charles!” James replied, a strange sort of defiance in his voice. “Stop that! It's just a lamb.” “And it will be a dead lamb if doesn't return to its flock!” Charles swung one leg across and jumped from Malicon's back. He then jumped forward, swinging the sword down and to the lamb's side. James also jumped from his steed, but instead of coming to his friend's aid, he grabbed the rat by the wrist when he raised his blade again. “It's just a lamb!” You are right, but show deference to your friend. The lamb is scared enough. Charles grimaced but nodded. “You're right. I'm getting a little carried away.” He sheathed his blade and lowered his eyes to the lamb who still bleated in terror. At least it learned never to leave the flock again. But what of the shepherd? As if in answer to his question they both lifted their heads when a much heavier tread shuffled through the trees and brush, emerging a moment later. A broad shouldered bull with dark-gray hide, sallow eyes and a weight of years equal to their own stepped forward with a crook in one hand and a frightened expression on his snout. He did not even seem to see the rat and donkey, kneeling down and scooping the lamb into his arms crooning, “There you are, little Ewar. Where were you off to? You are safe now.” The lamb continued to bleat for a few seconds, eyes never leaving Charles as he scooted with his hooves deeper into the bull's arms. But the bull's gentle stroking along the lamb's back calmed him quickly. Charles straightened and slipped his hand from James's distracted grip. “Good afternoon,” he said with a nod to the bull who towered over him. “I am Sir Charles Matthias and these are my lands. Who might you be, good shepherd?” The bull had his snout lowered to his chest as he consoled the lamb. His gaze rose slowly and stared at the rat as if surprised to see him. “My name is Silvas, milord. This is Ewar. How may we be of service?” “I suggest you maintain better control over your flock. You are fortunate your lamb found us and not a wolf pack.” “Thank you, milord.” Silvas ran the thick nail of his thumb beneath the lamb's chin. “Saved a second time.” James blinked. “A second time?” “Ewar nearly died at birth, milord. But your servant warmed him in the cold.” The lamb bleated contentedly now. He is on your land. “These are my lands, Master Silvas. What are you doing here?” Silvas's reply was bereft of pretense. “Pasturing the flock; I have always pastured them here in the Narrows. My father did too, and his father before him.” His voice was slow and heavily accented in the manner of the meanest commoners who had little education and, likely, even less comport with others to smooth out the roughness of their speech. The bull, Charles could tell, had shared more words with his flock than he ever had with people. He replied slowly, confused by the inquiry as if his presence in the Narrows was as any other rock or tree; a part of the land. Charles' questions struck him the same as they may have were he questioning a tree about its presence in a forest. He is on your land. Charles grimaced and narrowed his eyes. “Are you a Lakelander?” “Aye, though I only see the lake when I bring the flock for shearing.” Ewar kicked his legs a moment as if something had startled him. Silvas frowned and whispered soothing words to the lamb to calm him. “Pardon my, milord. If you have no need of me, I should return to my flock.” He touched the knuckle of his free hand to his brow and bobbed his head toward the unexpected visitors. “These are my lands now,” Charles cautioned the bull. “Return to your flock. We will discuss this again later. Good day to you.” Silvas nodded to them both and, carrying the lamb in his arms, disappeared back into the woods, lowing a wordless tune to call his flock. Charles watched him go for a moment before shaking his head and turning back to Malicon who was also sampling the clover. “James, is there something wrong?” “I cannot believe you just did that.” The donkey murmured with a scowl, his tall ears splayed back. Narrowing his eyes James tilted his head and peered at his friend. “Charles, are you hearing voices.” Nay, of course not. “Nay, of course not.” “Is there something you can't let go of? Like my bell or Kayla's swords?” He could not help but think of the vine. But the vine's call he had resisted. “There's nothing. James, it is not Marzac, if that is what you fear. I just... I made the wrong choice with the lamb. You were right, I shouldn't have threatened him; he should have run away instead of cowering. At least his bleating brought Silvas.” James flecked his lips and lowered his ears, his posture relaxing. “You scared me.” He waved one hand toward the undergrowth through which Silvas had disappeared. “There are peasants throughout the land, Charles. They've been here, likely for generations. Before the Curse, before Nasoj, and certainly before you and Lord Avery's gift of this fief.” The donkey exhorted with a frown. “You should not mistreat them just because their homestead was already here.” He will tell the others. They will become suspicious of you. Charles nodded and then lowered his snout at the rebuke. “I had not seen him during my earlier surveys. I was simply surprised, that was all. It won't ever happen again.” He grabbed the saddle and reins and hauled himself atop Malicon. “Let us head back for the day. I think we have been out here long enough.” And all the while they rode back, in silence but for the clopping of hooves and the snapping of branches, Charles felt the donkey's eyes boring into him. He simmered and hunched, wishing for some excuse to make his friend go away. ---------- May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love, Charles Matthias </body> </html>